The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  ‘Anything catch your eye?’ asked Sam.

  There was such hope and childish enthusiasm in his tone that I felt pressure. Or was it desperation? Could he sense the change in me, and this was his way of reminding me: This is what we could have.

  The three of us drank tea as I tried on piece after piece. I looked at myself in the mirror, batting away compliments from Sam. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make a choice. I saw the owner look at his watch. I didn’t blame him.

  ‘What about a watch?’ said Sam.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, pointing at one, the face encrusted with diamonds, just to end the whole charade.

  Back in the villa, against the distant sound of drums and singing, Sam and I worked opposite each other at the dining table. Sam had found a way to access guest details ahead of their trips, so our research was easier as it could be done online. Also, less fun.

  I glanced around the marble-floored villa, at the leather sofas, the giant TV screen, too many ornaments, the cheerful, vibrant art. All I could think was how large this place was to clean. I didn’t want to have to spend at least an hour hiding evidence. The anticipation, fear and thrill of being caught had worn off.

  After that, we flew to Bridgetown, with two days to spare before our next work contract. A cruise with a four-week itinerary around paradise. It would be the same guests, the same places, the same cabin, the same us.

  We stayed with JJ, drinking rum, bellies full each night after a barbecue, watching the flames die down. JJ was single again. Sam had been right about that after all.

  Sam went out one evening because he had someone to see. I could tell by the look of pity in JJ’s eyes that it was time for me to make proper decisions.

  In JJ’s spare room, I searched Sam’s belongings for clues that would justify my feelings. There wasn’t much. He always carried his rucksack with him, but I did find something.

  A receipt.

  Sam had bought me the watch, he hadn’t stolen it.

  I wasn’t sure how that made me feel.

  As if Sam sensed my feelings, he had the back of the watch engraved soon afterwards, as if that would make it more special, some small mark of permanence. To the woman I love. xxx. It didn’t change anything. Nothing could.

  TWENTY

  Now

  Day One

  Staff Itinerary: Orientation and preparation.

  Guest Itinerary: Out at sea day.

  Eleven days to Barbados . . .

  The familiar tilting and rocking out at sea is usually soothing, but not this time. Dread punches me in the gut the moment consciousness hits. I open my eyes. Lucy’s bed is empty. I check the time. 8 a.m. I delay facing the outside world by gazing out the porthole. Blue sky: tick. Aquamarine water: tick. Brilliant sun: tick. Another day in paradise: no. Anonymous blackmailer left behind in England: no.

  The reason the threats stopped isn’t because I left them behind. It was wishful thinking. The person who has a grudge against me and Sam has boarded this yacht and is right with me now. Or has paid someone to be here. Somebody rich like Alexandra could do that because she thinks I betrayed her. Unless Sam has used my money to pay someone? Perhaps it was Sam who wanted to get rid of me all along. He’s already stolen my money, now he wants to silence me.

  Shit. I’ve barely slept and I can’t mull over any more grim possibilities right now because of my meeting with Thomas. I take the quickest shower possible, pull on some shorts and a T-shirt and leave the cabin.

  Opening the door to the conference room, I see Thomas sitting at the oval table, files out in front of him. His pen is poised.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says, gesturing towards a chair.

  I do as I am told.

  Thomas hands me a list of names and places. He confesses that he loves lists. To be fair, I do too. I scan the islands, and familiar names leap out: Turks and Caicos, St Lucia . . . but the one that really catches my eye is the penultimate one.

  Bridgetown.

  ‘Be aware that this can all be subject to change. The itinerary can be altered if any of the guests wish it. Do you have any initial questions?’

  ‘How many people are there be on board in total?’

  ‘Aside from the three of us staff – you, me and Lucy – there are ten guests. Josephine and Harrison and their parents; and Gina, Norma, Mariella and Garth. There are also five villa staff who will disembark in Bridgetown, plus twenty-two yacht crew. This includes the captain, medical staff, catering, Daniel, who is in charge of security and so forth.’

  He hands me another list, typed on an A4 sheet of paper. The colour scheme for the engagement celebration is gold and sapphire. It includes various decorations – ribbons, gift bags, linen tablecloths.

  He stands up, opens some cupboard doors and points.

  ‘How do we get extra supplies of anything if we need them?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll introduce you to the relevant yacht crew and they’ll be able to assist with any requests. We also have use of a helicopter if something is particularly urgent or crucial. The one main rule is that we never say no. Everything can be done, no matter how big or small. It’s your job to say yes. Any problems are to be kept hidden from guests, at all costs. You speak to me and I’ll deal with any issues if you don’t feel able to.’

  ‘Even if I have to wake you up in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Try not to, naturally, but – yes . . . Now, moving on . . . our bride-to-be loves fancy dress so we’re having a themed evening and all the fancy dress outfits are stored in a single cabin. You need to plan ahead and get permission to access the room because it is occupied by a woman named Annie. She won’t be disembarking until we reach Barbados as she works as a nanny for Mariella. Her husband is bringing their four children to the villa.’

  ‘Does Annie not mind sharing her cabin with a load of costumes?’

  ‘There’s nowhere else to store them,’ he says. ‘Unless you’re offering to have them in your cabin?’

  ‘No, thanks. What about the wi-fi?’

  ‘Good and bad, depending on where we will be. Just don’t put off anything urgent. That’s my best advice. Next thing: everyone in the party is keen to explore, but not in a typical guided-tour format. I would like to use your knowledge to help create bespoke itineraries, to show them places that are more authentic.’

  ‘I can do that, no problem.’ I pause, and then ask the question I’ve been burning to ask him. ‘Something I’m curious about is why you chose me over the other two candidates you mentioned?’

  Thomas looks at me as though he is mulling over something vital and top secret.

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly.’

  ‘I didn’t want someone to accept the position just because they thought they were getting a free holiday,’ he says. ‘People can get very starry-eyed. It takes a certain type of person who can hold their own among this lot. Plus,’ he smiles at last, ‘I liked you. You were the right person for the job.’

  ‘Really? You kept that well hidden.’

  ‘I’ve made the mistake before of getting too friendly with staff. It doesn’t work. You are here to help ease my workload. I don’t want to have to listen to any boyfriend woes or homesickness traumas.’

  ‘There won’t be any of those.’

  ‘Good. Although, covering my arse, there is a duty of care to ensure that you are OK, so don’t suffer in silence if anything does crop up. It’s just that I would prefer that you phone a friend back home or such-like rather than bring it to work. We are in the business of professional fun and fantasy.’

  ‘I’ll bear that all in mind.’

  He must hear something in the tone of my voice. ‘I’m not trying to teach you to suck eggs,’ he adds, ‘but things will be different from how you’ve worked in the past. On cruise ships, I imagine there are some limitations depending on individual company rules. On board here, there are no limitations and rules. This type of demanding work is not for everyone.’

  At least he is b
eing honest. I prefer it to some of the wishy-washy people I encounter who insist that they ‘really don’t mind’ about certain details, when, really, they do. Some clients think that they are employing a mind reader.

  ‘I hear you,’ I say. Loud and clear.

  ‘Right. Next on the agenda is hobbies and interests, so you can get a feel for the kind of expectations everyone has when it comes to excursions. They provided these details themselves.’

  I skim-read to get a flavour.

  Josephine: Thrill seeker, prefers being on the move rather than stuck on a sun lounger.

  Harrison: Jet-skiing, fishing, scuba diving. Never happier than when by the sea.

  Mariella: No traipsing around in the midday sun. Likes: horse-riding, tennis and martinis at sunset.

  Gina: Just a kid at heart! Waterslides, action and jet-skiing.

  Garth: A ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. I hate being stuck in groups.

  Norma: Happy with pottering around local markets and lunching in the shade.

  Alicia and Charles: History, museums, art and nature.

  Sebastian and Arabella: Botanical gardens.

  ‘A varied bunch,’ I say.

  Any one of these names could be Whoever It Is.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it all out. Right, next thing . . .’ He opens a drawer and slides out ten navy, oblong boxes. Then he reaches down again and removes two rolls of gold wrapping paper and Sellotape.

  ‘Please can you wrap these up before we break for lunch?’ he says. ‘Welcome gifts.’

  ‘Sure.’ I don’t relish the thought, yet I imagine that it affords Thomas a great deal of satisfaction to have someone like me to hand over the more menial tasks to.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he says. ‘I’ve plenty to be getting on with myself, so I will see you back here after lunch.’ He gathers up his files, pen and tablet, then pauses. ‘Just one other thing. I appreciate that you have signed a confidentiality agreement. However, on top of that, there is a very strict no photographing the guests rule. And no personal social media giving away locations. It’s up to the individual guests what they choose to disclose about themselves.’

  Fine by me. The fewer images floating around online, the better.

  ‘I get it,’ I reply. ‘What about CCTV?’

  ‘It may or may not be used,’ he says. ‘It’s up to the guests’ discretion. But if I were you, I would assume that you are being watched all the time.’

  ‘Sounds ominous,’ I say with a smile.

  He throws me a look that I can’t quite interpret.

  ‘Just remember, we are not their friends. Josephine, especially, likes to keep her distance,’ he says, before leaving me alone, surrounded by lists and the gifts.

  Once he’s gone, I can’t resist. I open one of the boxes. Inside are platinum bracelets, made into daisy chains. Simple, but stunning. In some of the others are silver pens. I take out one of the bracelets and do up the clasp around my right wrist, holding up my arm to admire it. It suits me.

  The door opens. Josephine.

  I move my arm down to my side.

  ‘Oh. I’m looking for Thomas.’

  ‘He’s just left.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She shuts the door. I place the bracelet back in its box. Outside the door, I hear the crackle of a walkie-talkie. I wait a few seconds before opening the door, but there is no one in sight.

  I shut it again and start wrapping, but I feel watched. Paranoia hits. What if this is a test? But I reassure myself – I can pass any test. I’ve proved that.

  It’s not as though I’m a thief.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Then

  The Caribbean

  The last time I ever saw Alexandra was the evening before I was stopped by customs in Barbados. The first time, however, was on our way to Jamaica.

  Surprisingly, she wasn’t in the best suite – that had been booked by a prince and princess I had never heard of – but she was in the second best. It was decorated in royal blues and golds and had a living area with a sofa that faced the ocean, and its own aquarium.

  I was one of her designated butlers, another new role for me.

  On the very first evening, she asked me to play poker with her after I had unpacked her belongings. It took me two hours to hang up and fold away all her clothes, to neatly arrange all her toiletries in the bathroom. The best job, however, was unpacking her jewellery. Her pieces were from all around the world – images of India, China, Japan, Nigeria, Oman, Sweden, Morocco, Turkey and Greece adorned the rectangular boxes with matching lids. How I wanted a collection such as that, particularly the emerald necklace, its dainty oval stones surrounded by diamonds.

  I sat opposite her on a gold-backed chair and found it hard to take my eyes off her pearls. It brought real meaning to the words eye-catching.

  I asked her about her travels. Her stories made mine pale in comparison. She had been married three times – all of them a disaster.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ she said. ‘Don’t tie yourself down.’

  ‘Too late,’ I said, smiling, as if I was joking.

  ‘Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones.’

  She asked me questions about Sam and it was hard to answer because he and I hadn’t yet agreed on what story we were going to spin. We hadn’t even agreed yet that it would actually be her. She may not have been right, there may have been someone better. According to our latest online research, there were several potential options. I kept the details vague.

  ‘My first husband was rich,’ she said, in return. ‘I made the age-old mistake of thinking that money would buy us happiness.’ She gazed at me steadily. ‘I didn’t marry him because he was wealthy. I was dazzled. Too young to listen to my parents, who said they gave it two years, max.’ She smiled. ‘We lasted for three, but I think that was stubbornness on my part that we made it past their two-year prediction.’

  I laughed. ‘Sounds like the sort of thing I would do.’

  ‘Husband number two was my favourite,’ she said. ‘We lasted ten years and we had a son whom we both adored. He gave me two grandsons.’

  I didn’t want to share with her my lack of desire for children so I focused on my cards: Ace, King, Queen. When I looked up, the pearls around her neck caught my eye again. She had a similar set in one of her many jewellery boxes.

  ‘You’re such a magpie, Lola,’ she said, looking over her glasses at me. ‘I noticed you studying my jewellery boxes.’

  ‘Only one person calls me that,’ I replied, both embarrassed and annoyed at myself for making my admiration so obvious.

  It’s a myth, I had read, that magpies steal. I didn’t share that fact out loud with Alexandra.

  ‘You remind me of someone,’ she said.

  I didn’t bite.

  ‘Myself,’ she said eventually, under her breath.

  That night, Sam didn’t come back to the cabin until gone 4 a.m. I was still awake, dying to tell him about the mysterious woman.

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if our usual stories will fit,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to flower it up a little. Think of a real sob story.’

  ‘Actually,’ I said, only realising the truth as I said the words out loud, ‘I don’t think she’s right for us. I like her. She’s nice. Funny. Interesting.’

  ‘I think she sounds perfect,’ Sam said. ‘There’s no point in wasting time for less return. If she’s asked you to play cards with her, she clearly likes your company or is lonely. Either way, it’s good for us.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to target her. There’s another woman,’ I said. ‘Her husband recently died of a heart attack.’ He’d worked way too hard, apparently. She’s fulfilling their dreams by travelling without him. But it was the way she talked about his employees . . . how they had complained when she had to get rid of them.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault that Brian died,’ she’d said. ‘Not my fault that he hadn’t made provision for everyone. I needed the money more than them. N
o one understood that. They wanted to reason with me and buy time, but I got the lawyers in. Soon, they did understand.’

  ‘She reminds me of Colin,’ I said now, to tempt him.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think Alexandra sounds better.’

  Unease unfurled in my stomach, and I regretted letting the cat out of the bag. Alexandra was nice, gentle and wise. The sort of person I always imagined I would be if I was lucky enough to grow old. Having lost both my parents, it cemented the idea that none of us were guaranteed old age. It explained some of my impatience, my desire to have it all now. We are all just one slip, one car, train or plane accident, one diagnosis, one potentially horrible thing away from serious injury or death.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not her.’

  I thought that was the end of it.

  Alexandra shared more stories. She’d lost husband number three in a souk in Marrakesh.

  ‘Everyone laughs when I tell that story,’ she said, ‘but it’s true. He always got lost, he had no sense of direction whatsoever and, inconsequential as it may appear to others, it really was the final straw. He couldn’t do anything right. I filed for divorce the moment we returned from Morocco. I’m much happier on my own. I meet so many interesting people – hear so many stories. I’m looking forward to hearing more of yours, Charlotte.’

  And so I told her. I told her the good things about Sam, how we had met, how I had felt so spellbound, how vibrant he was, how alive, how full of energy.

  ‘But, Charlotte, and this is the important thing . . . are you happy?’

  I batted the question away with a smile and a joke.

  ‘He’s perfect for husband number one.’

  Naturally, when I first flew out to meet Sam, all loved up and naïve, I would never have anticipated that some of the happiest and most content moments of my life would end up being these sessions with Alexandra. I had friends, but distance and mutually busy, conflicting work patterns meant that mostly I was alone. Sam had temporarily filled that gap, but now there was a definite void. Our schemes meant that real connections and conversations couldn’t exist. I had to compartmentalise, just like I’d had to with Megs in Alaska. With Alexandra, I felt a dormant urge to open up, to have real conversations rather than second guessing what I should be saying and when.